


Mmm

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Slurs, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is rewarded for defending Jim’s intact honour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mmm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ritsuko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/gifts).



> A/N: For my beloved Ritsuko~
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They knock over the side table in the process, and the lamp clatters to the floor, flickering out with an eerie electric whine. Leonard swears, and Jim just keeps pushing, tossing him onto the bed—or mostly onto it, anyway. Leonard lands on his ass and groans, leaning back with an arm over his eyes while his legs dangle off the edge. That leaves Jim free to wrestle the table back up and put back what he can. He hits the lamp a few times, and it shudders back on, adding its yellow glow to the blue mist through their curtained-off window. The PADDs get shuffled around and haphazardly tossed back. Leonard grumbles, “It’s too late for this shit.”

“We woulda been back earlier if you’d kept your fists to yourself,” Jim chides, barely restraining his laughter. It’s not every day that _Leonard_ gets into a fight while _Jim_ resists. By the time Jim got back from the washroom at the bar, his Academy roommate was already cleaning up the competition and bleeding out his nose. But now he’s been complaining of headaches and scrapes and pains, and that leaves Jim to fiddle around on Leonard’s half of the room, wondering aloud, “Where do you keep that spare medkit?”

“Top drawer,” Leonard coughs.

“No bleeding on my bed.”

“’S my bed.”

“We’ll deal with the eye exam tomorrow.” Jim finds the metal tin in Leonard’s wardrobe, and he opens it as he walks back, fishing through gear. Some of it’s beyond him, but he knows his way around a basic dermal regenerator, and that’s what he hovers over Leonard’s face as he deals with the angry gash on Leonard’s cheek.

“Fucker had a graduate ring,” Leonard grunts.

Jim snorts. “How dare he.” Leonard shoves him playfully in the side, and Jim scolds, “Stop it, unless you want this to heal crooked.” The irony of their reversed roles isn’t lost on him. Nine times out of ten, Jim’s the idiot to totter home black and blue, and Leonard’s the gruff doctor bent on nursing him back to health. Jim’s not nearly so confident in his healing skills, but he can still privately enjoy the power trip. It isn’t every day he gets a big man like Leonard McCoy slumped on his bed, pliant beneath his fingertips. 

Maybe just in the hope that Jim won’t hammer that irony home, Leonard falls quiet for his treatment. Or maybe the headache’s just shut him up. He traces his bottom lip absently, rubbing over a split that’s crusted in blood, while Jim carefully seals a slit in his eyebrow. Once, Leonard winces and hisses, “Watch that,” but he’s mostly a good patient. Better than Jim is, anyway—Jim always squirms and whines. Jim sits next to his best friend and puts a hand on Leonard’s forehead to steady himself, brushing back brown hair.

When Leonard’s brow looks good as new, Jim pulls the small, handheld device back and runs his pinky along where the cut used to be, just checking. Leonard frowns up at him, and he grins, announcing, “Look at that; Dr. Kirk’s got you all better.” Leonard just rolls his eyes.

“You’ve still got half of it to go, _Doctor_.”

“I’m getting there.”

Next is Leonard’s mouth, which Jim has to push Leonard’s fingers away from. Twice, he has to stop when Leonard suddenly licks his lips, but after a hard scowl, Leonard, returning the look, settles. He presses his lips together, and Jim holds the instrument over the bottom one, until it looks nicely sealed.

Then he taps Leonard’s jaw and chirps, “Open up.”

Leonard, glaring, does. That gives Jim room to tilt the regenerator, leaning the sleek hull against Leonard’s upper lip, and Jim tilts it to close the crack on the inside. The regenerator can’t do anything about the bloodstains already there, but Jim can clean it up later. Leonard’s tongue threatens to roam too close again, and Jim automatically thinks of licking the blood away before he pushes a finger in next to the regenerator, jabbing at Leonard’s tongue and trying to push it aside.

Leonard chokes and splutters, and Jim draws the device out quickly, snapping it off with his thumb and announcing just in time, “Perfect! You’ve got the mouth of a super model again. You’re welcome.” He only grins wider the harder Leonard scowls; no matter how it’s twisted, that mouth _is_ particularly kissable, and Jim feels an odd sort of pride at being the one to restore it to glory. Maybe this is why Leonard’s so firm on the medical field.

Or maybe it’s the ability to strip people down into thin plastic gowns, but Jim’s not stupid enough to say that aloud. Instead, he pulls back for a peripheral sweep of Leonard’s body—clad in tight jeans and a loose shirt and jacket: going out gear—looking for other damage.

Leonard lifts his hips, just barely on the bed, legs still over, and grunts, “Think I hit a table ‘round the middle on my fall.” So Jim nods and slinks over the edge, shifting to the floor. Leonard stays where he is, evidently too heavy to move. 

Jim pushes his shirt up, and Leonard says, “Hey—”

“Can’t repair it through the clothes,” Jim quips, ignoring the protest. He bunches the fraying fabric right up Leonard’s stomach, past the dusting of a six-pack, tight and lightly tanned, something Jim’s always been jealous of. Just a little bit. Leonard’s pants are hanging low, unbelted as they are, revealing a stray trail of dark, matted hair bellow his navel. Jim can’t help but take a second to appreciate the area—he’s seen Leonard in states of undress before, of course, but usually not this close up. The fact that they’re both a little buzzed helps. Not enough for Jim’s hands to be anything less than steady as he traces the long, pink groove dug into Leonard’s side—that was a hard hit. 

Jim clicks the regenerator back on and holds it against the forming bruise, asking mostly to take Leonard’s mind off things, “What was that fight about, anyway? Aren’t you usually the pacifist?”

“It was about you, because you’re trouble even when you’re not around,” Leonard grumbles. Jim chuckles once: fair enough. He shifts to lean his body against Leonard’s leg, head just short of leaning on Leonard’s thigh—this is an awkward angle. But it’ll have to do. The light’s not great, but he doesn’t want to deal with anything brighter. This is a big dent; it’s going to take a few minutes. 

“What about me?” Then, smirking to himself, Jim adds, “Were you bragging about being out with me, the finest cadet in Starfleet?”

Leonard snorts. “You think you’re all I have to talk about? I wasn’t even thinking about you, but then some big bald kid starts picking on me _for_ being out with you, and like the amazing best friend I am, I stuck up for your questionable honour.”

“Aw,” Jim sighs, mock appreciative. “My knight in shining armour.” He shifts his angle a bit; the position’s rough on his knees. Draping more against Leonard helps; even when he’s tipsy and injured and lying down, Leonard’s a warm, solid mass. Curious, Jim presses, “What were they saying about me?”

Leonard’s quiet. Jim waits, expecting more teasing: invented insults and Leonard’s usual, wriggling complaints, but nothing meets him. Leonard’s silent, and that, more than anything Leonard could have said, makes Jim frown. 

He nudges Leonard’s knee and levels, “Bones. What’d they say?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you want me to finish patching you up.”

Lifting up onto his elbows, Leonard stays hiked up enough to send a glare Jim’s way. Jim grins at it, the regenerator off, and Leonard falls back down with an exasperated sigh. “Stupid kid stuff.”

Jim pokes his him beneath the bruise and prods, “Be more specific.”

“Called you a slut.”

Jim frowns for about half a second, then just snorts. Whatever. That’s hardly new, certainly not a surprise. He flicks the regenerator back on as he tells his friend, “They’re probably just jealous of all the tail I get.”

“All the tail you get?” Jim doesn’t have to see it to know Leonard’s rolling his eyes. “That’s not exactly how they phrased it.”

“So how’d they phrase it? ‘Damn that Jim Kirk, bagging every hot girl this side of Kronos.’”

“More like, ‘can you believe that Jim Kirk, getting on his knees for anything with a pulse’?”

“What’s so bad about that?”

Above him, there’s a pause. Jim just keeps concentrating on what he’s doing: making his beloved Leonard McCoy flawless again. He knows well enough what his reputation is. Honestly, he doesn’t mind it so much. “Why’d you hit them, anyway?”

“Seriously? Because they called you a slut, and I’m an amazing best friend. Weren’t you listening?”

“Is that it?”

“Jim,” Leonard grumbles, sounding as fed up as he always does by the end of their arguments, “if you really want the specifics, then yeah, I hit them because they called you a slut, and it _wasn’t_ a compliment. Baldy said you had every disease in the known galaxy, you got permanent rug burn on your knees from living on ‘em, and you only got this far in the Academy because you’re sucking off all the teachers. Then he said a bunch of vulgar shit about what he’d do with you once you got tired of me.”

Jim snorts. He could point out how muddled those insults are—who’d want someone that apparently had a bunch of diseases? But instead, maybe just because he’s so precariously close to Leonard’s crotch that it’s put as much on his brain, Jim mutters, “Fat chance I’d get tired of you for some ugly drunk in a bar.” In true Kirk fashion, he pats the thigh he’s leaning on and sends a smug grin up at Leonard’s disapproving scowl. “Don’t worry, Bones. I was gonna go home with you anyway; that guy’s pickup lines sound terrible.”

“Damnit, Jim,” Leonard hisses, “Don’t you _get_ it? You’re my _friend_ , and they called you a _whore_. I wasn’t worried about who you’d go home with.” With a frustrated snarl, Leonard adds, “Not that I can trust you to come safely back with me like you should...”

“Oh, now we’re jealous,” Jim laughs. He slumps onto Leonard’s thigh as he starts to work on a lower curve of the bruise, leaning his cheek against the rough denim. His chest feels faintly warm, not from being overdressed in their temperate dorm room, but from the fact that he _knows_ Leonard was protecting him. And he does appreciate that. But their friendship’s based more on teasing, so he lets it go on. He’s almost done healing Leonard, and as he works the regenerator back to where he started, he insists, “You don’t have to be; I’ll go home with you any time you ask.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Leonard says tightly.

But Jim pushes, “Seriously, Bones, you know you’re the only man for me, really. Look at you, with your big six-pack and giant package—why would you even worry about other men?” He lightly squeezes the thigh he’s leaning on for emphasis. He clicks off the regenerator; Leonard’s side looks perfectly fine: clear and smooth and sultry.

“Jim,” Leonard hisses warningly.

Jim’s already leaning forward, and he presses his closed lips to the soft patch of skin that used to be an angry pink. Leonard shoots up instantly, supported on his arms, gaping down at Jim while Jim smiles innocently up at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Kissing it better.” Jim grins, but there’s something in Leonard’s eyes that quickly makes that fall away. Leonard’s forehead is beaded with a light sheen of sweat, and Jim’s not sure if it was there from the fight or not. Leonard’s cheeks are flushed. Exertion. He stares down at Jim, and he licks his lips: those lips that Jim healed. 

Jim’s caught in the moment, and he pushes himself against Leonard’s side again, kissing longer. Leonard’s shirt is still scrunched up, his taut chest holding it in place. He _is_ gorgeous, and even if Jim was poking fun, he meant every word. 

Leonard mumbles, “Jim...” and it might be warning, might be pleading. Something in the room’s... changed.

Jim presses another kiss to Leonard’s stomach, this time closer to the middle, and Leonard sucks in a breath while Jim _wonders_ —is this the time? That moment he’s thought about over and over, but he didn’t think, wasn’t sure, Leonard’s never really _said_ anything...

And Jim feels the need to mutter, now a little uneasy, “’M not really a slut.”

“I know,” Leonard answers simply.

“I mean, yeah, I... I sleep with a lot of people, okay, maybe I am, but like... it’s not indiscriminate... either way, is there anything really that wrong with being open...?” Leonard shakes his head meekly; he looks almost as lost as Jim: a first. “I’m clean. I get my shots. Hell, _you_ make me take my shots.” Leonard laughs humorlessly. Jim’s mouth is suddenly dry. He licks it and says, acutely aware of just how _close_ he is to that big package he mentioned, “Anyway, I guess I did go home with you... and I am on my knees... for you...”

Leonard mutters, “Fuck, Jim...” And it’s nowhere near the abrupt rejection Jim always thought would come with this moment. It’s just a general, loose swear, so inherently _Bones_ that it makes Jim shiver and lean over Leonard’s leg, and he presses a hard, open kiss right across Leonard’s happy trail. He can feel the scratch of Leonard’s pants against his cheek, and he ignores it, kissing big and sloppy. Leonard just grunts. Jim’s hand creeps closer, slides under Leonard’s thigh and over to Leonard’s crotch, and then he’s cupping Leonard through too-thick fabric, and Leonard mumbles, “Shit, Jim, wait—” Jim doesn’t want to, but he makes himself pull away.

His head hovers back a few centimeters, and Leonard, now sitting up and looking haggard and hungry and _beautiful_ , fiddles with the front of his jeans. He jerks the fly down, and Jim’s pulse spikes, eyes widening, he looks up at Leonard, and Leonard checks hastily, “You’re not drunk...?”

“Totally sober,” Jim insists, risking adding, “wanted this _forever_.” Leonard looks at him skeptically, but that’s a conversation they’ll have when Jim’s not rock hard and about to start grinding into Leonard’s foot.

Even as Leonard pushes his pants down, Jim changes position, crawling around to fit between Leonard’s spread legs. He puts his hands on Leonard’s thighs, and he kisses Leonard’s hands as they leave, his own fingers doing the rest—underwear and pants half-down, only the head of Leonard’s cock remains trapped inside, and it makes his shaft, his thick, _huge_ shaft bend into its confines. How Leonard walks around with that monster between his legs, Jim’s always wondered—every time he’s gotten a glance at it over the past few years together, it’s ruined his next few nights. Never mind the rest of Leonard’s charm and their sparkling connection—Jim could’ve lusted after him for this alone. Jim takes his second to look, and he dives in, tongue instantly out to lave over the base, right over the prickling hairs and the pink skin over riveting veins and the dip down to a heavy sac of huge balls. Leonard instantly grunts, “ _Fuck_ ,” and fists a hand in Jim’s hair.

Leonard’s hands in his _hair._ How many times has Jim jerked off to that thought? He wants Leonard to tug it, to treat him rough, to pull and push him wherever. He groans around his mouthful of cock, lips spread grotesquely around the base, and he runs himself up and down over the arch, tongue reaching down to lap at everything. When he finally stops long enough to properly free Leonard’s cock, he just barely manages to avoid getting slapped in the face. It’s very much as hard as he is, and he cups it in his hand, running his tongue right from base to tip and back again, shivering at the tangy taste—better than he imagined. He must’ve been wrong about that jealousy; how could Leonard McCoy ever be jealous of _anyone_?

There’s a brief moment, as Jim kisses his way down to the tip and Leonard groans, that Jim wonders if this is smart. After he has someone this thick, this long, how is he ever going to go back to normal? He doesn’t want to go back. But that’s up to Leonard. Later. That makes Jim even more aware of what a good job he wants to do; he wants this again.

He swirls his tongue around the slit at the top, hands wrapping around the base and using his own saliva for lube, and he spreads his own legs between Leonard’s. He wants to concentrate just on pleasing Leonard, but he can’t help himself. He snakes one hand back down his body and palms himself through his pants, now slicking Leonard up with more spit. Leonard makes another grunt that might’ve been a curse, and that just spurs Jim on. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, but he stares up at Leonard’s too-handsome face, and their eyes connect through the near darkness. 

Jim opens his mouth as wide as he can and pushes onto the head of it, too delighted when it takes up all the room he has. Leonard’s grip in his hair tightens. Leonard’s teeth are grit. It takes a good deal of practice for Jim to push himself down, opening up to more and more as the mammoth cock slides along his flattened tongue, pulsing, hot and alive, against the walls of his mouth. He’s not even sure he’s going to be able to take it all, even though he’s had plenty of experience deep-throating. But hell, he _wants_ to. He wants all of it inside him; he wants his nose buried in Leonard’s pubic hair and his chin against Leonard’s balls, and he wants to give Leonard the best blowjob either of them has ever had; he wants Leonard to think of Jim next time he’s taking care of himself in the middle of the night, and then Jim wants Leonard to call him over and fuck Jim’s mouth again and again. 

It’s a messy process, taking cock this big, and Jim can feel his own saliva building on his lips and rolling down his chin, and he takes so much down his throat that it’s a wonder he can breathe at all. He uses all the will he has, eyelids lowering in a bizarre form of ecstasy, face flushed, and he gets _almost_ there. But he can’t quite make it. He starts to choke, schools himself and manages. He makes a whining sound that’s muffled around his mouthful, and Leonard moans loudly, hips trembling. Jim grabs one thigh with the hand he’s not using to massage himself. He couldn’t take being bucked into like this. Instead, he hollows out his cheeks, sucking as hard as he can, and Leonard groans like the whore Jim’s supposed to be.

Jim’s lips are too stretched for a smile. He sucks again, and he starts to pull back, trailing saliva, and when he gets up to the tip, he shoves himself down again. He almost gags but doesn’t care. He sucks again, sucks the whole way up, and he turns his head, swirling down on the next stroke, twisting and sucking, bobbing up and down at an inhuman pace for such a giant cock. Jim pushes himself to the limits. He feels like he’s been training his whole life for this. This is the king of cocks. Jim treats it as much, licking and sucking at everything he can; fucking himself vigorously on it, and when his throat constricts in protest, he just keeps going. His fingers are digging into Leonard’s thigh, his hips wildly humping his own hand, and he barely manages to look up at Leonard’s face again, whimpering and pleading—let this never end. 

Leonard’s wide-eyed and fucking _gorgeous_. His mouth falls open, gasping for air, and his eyes scrunch together, contorted in clear bliss, bliss Jim gave him. He twists his hand down the back of Jim’s head, cupping Jim’s neck, holding Jim in, but Jim would never leave anyway. He’s too busy gorging himself on Leonard’s cock. At the moment, he can’t even think of why he ever took anyone else. Preparation, maybe, so he’d be worthy. But he should’ve been pleasuring it all along, the second they met. As soon as they got off the first shuttle, Jim should’ve dropped to his knees and buried his face in Leonard’s crotch and nuzzled at the outline of his dick and _begged_ for it. Every single night they’ve spent in this dorm together was wasted—Jim should’ve been crawling over into Leonard’s bed, slipping under the blankets, sending Leonard’ to sleep with a blow job and sucking him off in the morning to wake him up. Jim should’ve been riding it in between classes— _fuck_ , what would it feel like inside him? Would it even fit? Jim’s asshole is twitching just from thinking about it, and he flexes his channel—he’d stretch, he’d find a way. He’d train up to it, if he had to, take all sorts of toys, stretch himself until he could drop easily onto Leonard’s lap with no preparation...

He’s going to come first. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to open his pants and take himself out—then he’ll burst immediately. No wonder everyone thinks he’s a slut. He doesn’t care. Who wouldn’t get hard from sucking a cock like this? Jim feels blessed. He pours that into his work, and this _is_ his work—his new, sole purpose in life has become the pleasure of Leonard McCoy; Jim sucks and hums and whimpers around his mouthful and begs Leonard with his eyes to come in his mouth. He wants Leonard to fill up his stomach. He wants to drink it all down and be sick tomorrow with how much he swallowed. He slips his hand down to Leonard’s balls and squeezes them lightly, urging them to fill him up, and as soon as he’s not holding Leonard down anymore, Leonard bucks into him _hard_.

Jim comes instantly, screaming his release around the giant cock in his mouth and painting his jeans. He’s not wearing any underwear. The denim scratches his still-twitching asshole as he rocks himself into his palm, and he’s choking on cock but doesn’t care. He’s completely impaled, and Leonard humps him again, and that’s it. 

Leonard explodes in his mouth, pouring a flood of hot cum straight down his throat. Jim jerks himself back halfway, just enough to taste it, and then it’s spurting down his tongue, slick and sticky and clinging to the walls of his mouth while he seals his lip and sucks. Even then, it’s hard stay on; Leonard comes an unnatural amount, groaning and bucking his hips, and Jim, spluttering to swallow load after load, floats in a post-orgasm haze so hot he thinks he might pass out.

Even after Leonard’s finished coming, Jim doesn’t pull off. He waits for Leonard to pull out, leaving Jim’s mouth to hang open, cum and spit soaking his lips and chin. He might’ve unhinged his jaw doing that—it feels like he won’t be able to close it for a while. 

When he finally manages to look up, Leonard’s shaking his head and swearing, “ _Fuck_ , Jim.”

Jim finally wipes his mouth off on his sleeve and mumbles, “Give me a few minutes, then you can.” And Leonard just snorts and shakes his head.

He pushes off the bed, shoving Jim away by the shoulder while he settles down, back against it, pants still hanging open, and Jim looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and wonders if they’ve messed up their friendship for good.

After an eerie stretch of silence filled with just their panting, Jim manages a weak, “So, you feel better?”

And Leonard lunges at him for a sloppy kiss that Jim clings to desperately. One kiss turns into five, and Leonard growls in between them, “I don’t do polygamy.”

Jim’s already decided: “I’ll be monogamous for you.” And it’s back to a mess of kisses that leave Jim dizzy, pulled into strong arms, shattering all the questions he might’ve had. They don’t matter. What matters is that Leonard’s holding him and touching him and kissing him, and Jim chuckles when he manages the breath, “’Knew you were jealous.”


End file.
